


These Being the Writings of Aristobulus of Cassandreia

by Megkips



Category: Fate/Zero
Genre: Bromance, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 07:42:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megkips/pseuds/Megkips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a knot, and it has been there since Gordias passed through the city.  It tethers a cart - a simple one, made to plow fields using oxen - to the palace of Gordium, a reminder of Sabazios’ blessing upon the city.  Oh, it used to be something, Gordium, the home of King Midas.  If it was the Midas who could turn things to gold who placed the cart there, well,the cart had avoided such a fate.  It isn’t gold, but rather the cart is made of decaying wood with withered rope that has become nothing but dried out bark over the years.  Making rope from cornel was stupid to begin with, really, what else could you expect to happen to the stuff?</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Being the Writings of Aristobulus of Cassandreia

There is a knot, and it has been there since Gordias passed through the city. It tethers a cart - a simple one, made to plow fields using oxen - to the palace of Gordium, a reminder of Sabazios’ blessing upon the city. Oh, it used to be something, Gordium, the home of King Midas. If it was the Midas who could turn things to gold who placed the cart there, well,the cart had avoided such a fate. It isn’t gold, but rather the cart is made of decaying wood with withered rope that has become nothing but dried out bark over the years. Making rope from cornel was stupid to begin with, really, what else could you expect to happen to the stuff? There is nothing impressive about the cart, no reason to even display it to the public except for the fear that taking away an offering to Sabazios might result in the destruction of the city. As if it needs help, what with its status of being a satrap of Persia rather than its own kingdom.

But it is still tradition, and Alexander can respect tradition. 

It doesn’t stop him from cheerfully asking his hosts why they display such a ramshackle cart as a part of their otherwise fine palace. Their reactions - half insulted half amused that a foreigner doesn’t know the story of the cart - are worth the ignorance he feigns in asking the question. He knows the story from listening to the common folk in the agora, and he nods politely when the officials tell him what he already knows. That it is a knot tied by the city’s founder, having blessed by Sabazios - that is Zeus, they note, as if Alexander is an idiot and hasn’t been wintering his men at Gordium for the past two months nor bothered to learn the local names for his gods - and wishing to give him thanks for such a splendid city to rule. Now with the city under Achamenid rule, the locals had begun to add to the cart’s legend, saying that whoever might untie the knot and free Gordium from its burden would go on to conquer all of Persia. Everyone had laughed at the ending of the story, agreeing that it would be a fine thing for Persia to be destroyed by any hand, but it was one of the young advisors visiting from heart of the Achaemneid Empire who had turned to Alexander and smiled coldly.

“Perhaps you might try your hand at the knot yourself, Alexander.”

The group had laughed uncomfortably at that - they knew the meaning in the advisor’s words. Alexander smiled and laughed in response. “I should like nothing better, if all parties are agreeable.”

The when of the matter had not been spoken, nor even implied. It was only determined after Alexander finished speaking and stood up from the midday’s meal, demonstrating how seriously he took the matter. As he headed for the door, it was clear that the the administering men of Gordium had no choice but to follow the Macedonian king from the private rooms of Gordium’s palace onto the street to reach the cart. It was ridiculous to go through the streets of course, it would have been a five minute’s walk if one remained within the palace walls, but that was the point. When he walked past, Gordium’s government in tow, people wondered what it was the Macedonian king was doing and soon began to follow behind him as if he was a street spectacle. Once someone had figured out Alexander’s route, they began to shout the king’s intentions to all and sundry. 

By the time Alexander stood before the ox cart, a sizeable crowd had gathered behind him, wondering what the king intended to do. He had clearly not looked at the knot before, otherwise he would not have stood there staring blankly at the knot, arms folded over his chest and face frowning. 

Alexander paused, his eyes drifting from the rope to the cart itself. Despite the back of the cart falling apart, the pole pins seemed to be in fine condition and so did the wheels, for whatever reason. The thing had been preserved oddly, but that wasn’t of note.

“Hm,” Alexander finally said to the silenced crowd, before carefully feeling at the pole pins. They were still loose. Good.

At that moment, Waver Velvet woke up. This hadn’t been the first time he found himself in Rider’s life, but it seemed strange to see Rider comparatively young, still lacking some of his muscle definition and if Waver had to venture, he hadn’t finished growing yet either. Across the room, Rider was still awake, watching cable news from America so seriously it was surprising that he wasn’t taking notes. Clips from debates flashed by, peppered with analysis from the news commentators.

It wasn’t worth interrupting the television to ask about a stupid knot, Waver figured, turning over and burying his head under his pillow to block out the screen’s glow. Besides, the only reason people knew about that stupid incident was because he had gone to conquer Persia, not because the prophecy attached to the knot was true.

The next morning - well, afternoon, really, the fact that night is the preferred time for fighting the Grail War has done a number on Waver’s sleep schedule - the two made their way through Fuyuki’s main drag without saying much to each other, or even Rider idling at every store window. The walk had started as a way of scouting out battlefields, but now it was simple routine. They stopped at Riverside Park as they always did.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” Rider finally ventured, once they had found themselves a bench that sat far away from the usual paths people took in the park.

“The television kept me up late,” Waver snapped. “Could you turn it off after four o’clock?”

“You’re usually out like a light before I turn it on,” Rider replied, keeping his laugh to a low rumble. 

Waver scowled. “Well when I wake up and can’t fall back to sleep--”

“Mmm,” Rider said. “I thought I heard you up last night.”

How Rider could even tell, Waver decided not to ask. It was probably some prana connection that responded to Waver’s own circadian rhythm, which would actually be interesting to study if there wasn’t a war to fight. 

As if to fill in the gap of silence, Rider laughed again. “You snore, kid.”

“I do not!” Waver fired back automatically. “And even if I do, you haven’t heard yourself do the same! It’s like sharing a room with a truck.”

Rider beamed, “Friends used to say I sounded like an ox!”

“An apt comparison,” Waver agreed. “Big, brutish and displaying a lack of understanding of the word subtle.”

“Subtle is for those who need it,” Rider said with a shrug.

“So that’s why you’d cut a rope in half rather than lose face by failing to untie it?”

There was something oddly satisfying about making Rider fall quiet, even if it was just for a moment. “I untied it,” he said simply. “Pulling the pole pin out let me see the ends and go from there. The sword only came out only to help pick at the knot.”

“Not very dramatic,” Waver offered dryly.

Rider nodded in agreement. “Well that’s why it got changed, I imagine. Besides, I probably would have just cut through the rope if the knot was really that unyielding.”

“Why even bother doing it then?” Waver followed up. “It seemed like you were put up to it to begin with, why give the person who made the joke the satisfaction of rising to the bait?”

“It was there.”

The King of Conquerors offered no other follow up to the remark, but really, he didn't need to. Waver let the words echo in his head - _it was there_. Why untie a knot that had no meaning outside a backwaters city? _It was there._ Why conquer all of Persia?- _it was there._ Why he had gone into India? _It was there._ Why struggle so hard to reach the ocean in the east? _It was there._

It was a flimsy reason, that’s what it was, an excuse for extreme brutality and egotism. But then again, Waver found his mind reasoning, why else had he taken the artifact from Kayneth Archibald to begin with? He could have found some other way to prove himself as a magus on par with those whose lines could be traced back to the Norman conquest. A slower way, to be certain, but that would have been just as great and--

\--because it was there.

Waver stood suddenly. “Come on,” he said, “I need to get some coffee if we’re going to be up late tonight.”

The bench groaned as Rider stood up. “Bleh,” he said, his face screwed up in distaste. “I don’t know how you stand that stuff, it’s too bitter.”

“I add sugar,” Waver said, “And you’re not drinking it so it doesn’t matter.”

Rider shrugged in agreement. “Such sound logic is hard to argue with.”

“Hey!” 

Waver’s protests and reprimands for the insult were drowned out by Rider’s usual boisterous laugh. It was pointless to even try to speak over him, as every time Waver tried, Rider only laughed more. Besides, Rider logic said that the only reason he made jokes at Waver’s expense was because the opportunity was there. With that understanding, well, Waver could at least try to avoid giving Rider such opportunities in the future.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> The earliest account of the knot at Gordium comes to us from Aristobulus of Cassandreia, whose works were later copied by Arrian and Plutarch - all who suggested the pole pin was removed rather than the knot cut dramatically in half.


End file.
